


Covert (Or Not)

by ThisWasInevitable



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Universe, Flirting, Fluff, Love Languages, M/M, Reader requests, indruck, rating is for language, sternclay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 11:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20274979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisWasInevitable/pseuds/ThisWasInevitable
Summary: Two reader requests, each featuring our heroes trying to be stealthy or subtle and utterly failing.





	1. They'll Never Suspect a Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: literally everyone knows about stern and Barclay, who are convinced they’re very sneaky and no one knows

“You realize,” Stern murmurs, stroking Barclays hair as they lay in bed, “that we’ll need to keep this secret.”

Barclay lifts his head from Sterns chest to look at him, brown eyes sleepy and satisfied, “Yeah, you’re right. Not sure Mama’d be too pleased to find out I’m uh, involved with a guest.”

“And I can’t risk my superiors finding out somehow. It’d look like I was possibly compromised, or getting distracted.”

“You telling me you aren’t distracted by me?” Barclay kisses his chin.

Stern snorts, “hardly, I find you captivating, but I can do my work while also enjoying your company. I just hope nobody catches on.”

“Babe, don’t worry.” Barclay nuzzles his cheek, “I’m real good at not drawing attention to myself, and you’re a literal FBI agent who knows like, covert techniques and shit. We’ll be fine.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

Dani’s in need of a late night snack, slips out of bed (pecking Aubrey on the cheek) and sneaking to the kitchen. Barclay said she could use it as needed, as long as she cleaned up after herself and told him if she used up the last of something. 

Her hand is on the light switch when she notices the light in one of the pantries is on. There’s a burst of laughter and she ducks into the shadows just in time. Barclay steps backwards out of the closet, still laughing. Holding his hand is agent Stern, who is trying and failing to shush him due, in part, to the fact he is also laughing. 

“I told you, I was gonna stop by when I was done organizing the spices.” Barclay murmurs, pulling Stern into his arms. 

“I couldn’t wait.” Stern closes the gap between their faces and kisses the cook. 

Holy fuck. 

They keep kissing, Stern pushing Barclay backwards and into a counter, causing him to knock over a pile of silverware.

In the ensuing clatter, Dani makes her escape. 

She cannot _wait_ to tell Aubrey. 

\----------------------------------------------------------

Aubrey is pretty sure Dani is bullshitting her. The woman once had her going for a week with the lie that her brother was the inspiration for Edward Cullen. She’s not buying that her girlfriend caught Stern making out with Barclay

Until, that is, she gets a phone call.

“Amnesty Lodge, this is Aubrey.”

“Oh, hello Ms. Little.” Stern says pleasantly, “would it be possible to talk to Barclay quickly?”

“Uh, sure.” She waves Barclay over from where he’s refilling the coffee station in the lobby, hands him the phone. Steps around the corner. Then pretends to keep stepping, softer and softer, so he’ll think she’s gone. 

“Hey, agent.” Barclays voice is softer than she’s ever heard it as he continues the one-sided conversation, “Uh huh? Oh, okay, so you’ll be late? Oh, not coming at all.” She peeks around the corner, notices his face has fallen, “No, hey, don’t gotta apologize for doing your job.” There’s another pause and then, “when you get back? Yeah, I’d love to. You know how to knock. Bye, agent.” 

He clicks the phone off with a happy sigh, which means he doesn’t hear Aubrey booking it down the hallway to tell Jake what just happened.

\----------------------------------------

“Thank you for showing me this trail, Duck.” Indrid twines his fingers in the rangers own as they walk. 

“No problem, darlin. Figure it don;t count as playin hooky from work if I’m technically showin a visitor around.”

They reach a small rise when Indrid grabs Ducks hand.

“Wait.” He whispers.

“What?” Duck whispers back. 

“Over that hill, Barclay and Agent Stern are having a very intimate conversation that is...twenty seconds away from getting quite steamy.”

“I fuckin knew it.” Duck hisses triumphantly, “Barclay looks at Stern the way I look at you.”

“Aww.” Indrid kisses him gently.

"Also, Stern damn near walked into a wall when Barclay had his shirt off to fix the springs."

"Come on, let's leave them be."

“Hold up, are they off the trail? That ain’t allowed!”

“Let it go love. Believe me, it’s for the best.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Mama passes by the kitchen early one morning. Spies Barclay through the small window on the door, and decides to stop and ask if he needs anything. Her hand is on the nob when Barclay opens his arms to someone she can’t see. Stern steps into them a moment later, nestling against her friend.

Barclay is hugging him, petting his hair and, if her lip reading skills are still what they once were, telling him it’ll be okay and that he loves him. 

“Nope.” She says, and turns on her heel.

\--------------------------------------------------------

It’s after the battle, after all the stress and fear and revelations. 

Stern and Barclay are sitting on his bed, Stern replacing a bandage on Barclays hand. 

“You ready to tell them?” He kisses the top of the bandage when he’s done.

“Yep. You really think they don’t know?”

“My dear.” Stern kisses him, drawn-out and deep, mouth tasting like a thousand promises, “they don’t suspect a thing.”


	2. Speak My Language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Prompt for the taz ship of your choice: discovering each other’s love languages"

One of the things that most excites Indrid about being with Duck is that he finally has an excuse to try out all the human courtship rituals he’s observed over the years. 

Currently, he’s flipping through a stack of magazines, looking for recommendations and for information on what rituals he must absolutely be sure to do. 

“‘50 moves to drive him wild?’ No, have that under control. ‘How to Flirt You Way to Your Dream Man?’ Already done. ‘What’s his love language? Hmmmm.” Indrid flips to the page listed in the table of contents. 

Skimming it, he gets a sinking feeling. He has no idea which of these is Ducks. But if he doesn’t know Duck’s love language, how will he be able to make sure Duck knows he loves him? Maybe that’s why Duck hasn’t said “I love you” yet (to be fair, neither has Indrid, terrified of speaking too soon and losing the best thing that's happened to him in centuries).

He has to know. He must find out. 

He is now on a mission to decipher Ducks love language. 

\--------------------------------------------

“Uh, I got a delivery for Duck Newton?” Says the very confused pizza delivery guy as he stands at the door of the ranger station.

“That’s...me.” Duck takes the pizza, “Do I need to pay you?”

“Nope, prepaid. Have a nice day.”

Duck wanders back to his desk, pleased with this turn of events. He’d spaced on grabbing his lunch this morning and was getting hungry.

He flips open the lid, smiles when he finds a heart-shaped pizza waiting for him. On the inside lid of the box is written, “To Duck, from Indrid.”

Indrid watches this moment through his visions, heart lighting up at the grin on Ducks face. 

When Duck comes home that night, Indrid is already at the apartment. The ranger wraps his arms around him from behind, kissing his neck.

“Thanks for lunch, handsome.”

“You’re welcome, my sweet.”

Duck walks to the bedroom, begins changing out of his work clothes. Indrid follows him, hopeful in spite of his visions. 

“Oh, by the way, called the landlord about gettin the heater fixed. It didn’t run too good last winter, and I wanna make sure it’s runnin perfect so you’ll be nice and cozy when you’re here.”

“Thank you.” Indrid says softly, scritching Winnie on the head. 

He tries several more times over the course of the week. He brings Duck flowers one day, a new model ship the next, and so on. Duck is overjoyed and grateful at each one, teases Indrid for spoiling him.

But no “I love you.”

Indrid crosses “Receiving Gifts” off the list. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Indrid stares at the bag of clothing. The bag of clothing stares back, but it’s not glaring nearly as much.

He’s paid attention to the times Duck says he likes the way a piece of clothing looks on him, catalogued the items he was wearing when Duck had a particularly hard time keeping his hands to himself. And after spending far longer in the superstore than he wanted to, he’s put together several ensembles that fit his criteria of, "things Duck likes when I wear them."

The next morning, when he steps out of the bedroom as Duck is getting ready for work, the mans eyes go wide.

“Damn, darlin, what’s the occasion?” 

“Oh, I just felt like a change of pace.” Indrid fidgets with the end of the grey and yellow sweater he’s wearing over a well fitting grey t-shirt and black jeans. 

Duck is close now, fiddling with Indrids hair as he drinks in the sight before him.

“Y’look real good.”

Then his alarm dings and he’s out the door for work. 

The next day, he styles his hair to look like less of a mess.

“Look just as cute as you do with bedhead.”

On the third day with no I love you, as soon as Duck leaves he changes back into his tank-top and pajama pants and crosses “words of affirmation” off the list. 

\-----------------------------------------------------

Maybe he’s going about this wrong.

He’s on operation “quality time” and still isn’t having much luck. Not that he hasn’t enjoyed the dates, or the moments at home where he and Duck simply talked over a meal or cuddled side by side while reading. In fact, this has so far felt the most natural to him. That’s one of the things he loves about Duck; the man makes him want to stay in the present, draws his focus in a way no future ever could. That there's no future where he grows bored of being by his side.

Today, when he’d arrived at the apartment, he’d found Duck in the kitchen making dinner.

“Nothin fancy, just some pasta with alfredo sauce, but I wanna start cookin for us more. My boyfriend deserves a meal that isn’t microwaved, or liquid, now and then.”

Dinner finished, they’re laying on the couch, Duck reading and Indrid drawing in his notebook. They’re leaning against opposite arms, feet and legs tangled together (Duck had previously had Indrids feet in his lap, rubbing them as he talked about the new tree health metrics). Indrid wants to enjoy it, but he’s worried, and too distracted with that worry to pay attention to the futures featuring Duck. 

Finally, he gives in.

“Duck?”

“Yeah, darlin?”

“Do you love me?”

Duck sets down his book, frowning, “Well, yeah, but this feels kinda ominous.”

All of the futures catch up with Indrid at once and he whacks his forehead with his notebook, groaning.

“Whoah, hey, darlin, what’s wrong?” 

“I just saw the direction this conversation goes and I feel like a fool.”

“Mind elightenin the fella who don’t got future seein powers? Er, of that exact kind.”

Indrid sighs, “I’ve been trying to figure out your love language and I believe I fundamentally misunderstood the premise. I was using it as a way to find out if you loved me, not how you showed that love.”

“Indrid, I’m so fuckin into you it ain’t even funny. But I know I don’t always show it in ways that make sense.” Duck takes his hands.

“But you _do_, you’re constantly doing little things to look after me, things that let me know you’re thinking of me and care for me. And you’re always touching me which I, I” he swallows, trying to get the words out right, “I love. I mean, I love kissing and sex and all that too, but I went so long without all those little, intimate, everyday touches and you spoil me with them. And I was afraid that if I came right out and told you I loved you, all that would disappear. You’d think I was clingy or going to fast or-”

Chapped lips press against his knuckles. Duck is gazing at him, mismatched eyes fond and a smile quirking his lips. 

“I was afraid of the same thing. Funny, ain’t it, that we done nearly everything except skywriting to show each other how we feel and were both still worried we were wrong.”

“That’s certainly one word for it.” Indrid mutters, looking down and still a bit annoyed at himself. 

“Hey, Indrid.” Duck nudges his chin with his hand until Indrid looks up again, “I love you.”

Indrid smiles, brushing Ducks hair with his fingers as he leans in for the kiss that will come the moment after he says, “I love you, too.”


End file.
